in a valiant effort to ignore the fucking heartache i am suffering right now, i am trying to update some of my pages so they don’t look like utter crap…right now i am working on my page of comics i have started…but not finished.
(if you want to volunteer any web-building skills? i can pay in inkings! or duck eggs!)
so i’m scanning in some old comics when–i realize i am missing comics! hard copies…yes, my filing system would indicate i am a genius per all those “you are a genius if” articles that i suspect are designed just to make those of us who have a tendency for absentmindedness feel better…however, it makes it impossible for me to find things.
i always put things in a safe & obvious place, and then promptly forget where they are.
so i’m in the process of tearing my house apart (aka: cleaning) to try & find said comics. so far, no good.
man, i miss making comics.
this comic is one i started writing as i became increasingly disillusioned with living in a co-op. if you ask me, it is brilliant. of course, i never finished it…yet.
i was so
looking at who i was
in our relationship
by my own behavior
by what i had
i never noticed
i never really saw
who you were
innocent & good
i trusted you
when you told me
you were perfect
what else could you be
if i was already
i played around with this one a little. i don’t actually look like a cheshire cat…but he is one of my favorites in the land of alice.
plus i’m home alone with three cats right now and (i’m not a cat person.) so when i went to draw myself as a monster….
i mean, playing with hearts as if they are made of catnip? or, in the case of my cat roscoe, the thing you pull off a bottle of milk to open it. that plastic ring. a heart as a plastic ring? i mean, i did play with hearts…but only the still beating ones.
never realizing that mine was being played with as well….
okay…that might show up in pages to come….
i’m trying to figure out
how to live
with a heart
that is not broken
so much of my life
has been spent
in my own pain
dancing to the beat
all my days spent
trying to heal
breaking my self
all over again
so much of my life
i have no idea
how to live
wrapping myself up
in my own
i wrote down the thoughts on this page after commenting on someone’s post about broken hearts.
i liked the idea and this poem is my attempt at flushing out the idea of learning to live with a heart that is not broken.
i might play with it more.
the dodo bird is my spirit guide as i try to fly.
reminding me not to be too trusting.
reminding me to survive.
i have been thinking a lot about starting to do comics again. my latest posts are a bit cartoon-y…which i have to keep reminding myself that that is okay. it is okay to draw the way i draw. it is okay to not be michelangelo.
but maybe my subconscious is trying to steer me back to comics. i like to draw. i like to write stories…comics make sense. i just have to accept that, also, i am never going to be stan lee.
i am me. i have my own style. i have my own story to tell.
i am still going at the pace of a page a month.
yikes…but i do like the way the pages are turning out…mostly.
sometimes depression can help my art.
art helps with my depression.
and who better to embrace while severely depressed than my tragic alter-ego, moses jones: superstar.
doing this little bit of this page really helped. before i started working on it i was just listening to goyte tell me “your heart’s a mess” on loop (& i’m all like, “no shit, goyte…way to state the obvious….”)
so much crying.
i’m sure i will art journal about it…this feeling so fucking alone and of waiting for someone to throw me a line….
oh, wait, i guess i ended up throwing myself a line.
(threw myself a line/drew myself a line…you get it)
so this is where i will be if you need me.
drawing the line.
okay. my very first comic was a soap opera based on the nursery rhyme “hey diddle diddle.” i would draw it on a chalkboard in the basement of the house i grew up in. there are not actual pages. i erased before doing the next page. but i assure you–it was amazing and proof of my undiscovered status as a child prodigy.
my first comic that i can actually share with y’all was a neurotic comic based on my own experiences in love & relationships. i started writing it in the late ’90s. i was living in a one bedroom apartment with my dog norman. we were right near the bar i waited tables at by day and would go to at night to drink & watch bands. i moved into this apartment about a month after i married my ex-husband.
i met him.
we eloped in tennessee.
i moved in with him.
he told me he didn’t think he loved me after all.
i threw up.
i moved out.
i started this comic.
it starts out pretty goofy & light…or lightly dark…um…sepia? but then morphs into an experiment where i see what stories of mine i can turn into comics (testing my theory that anything can be a comic)
i have made a page for it on my website here: confusion perfume. i am afraid the print might be kind of small. having had “serious” comic book man friends who told me the “right” way to do comics, i did the originals on large board & then had them shrunk down at a professional printer. these days you’re lucky if my art is on real paper & scanned rather than half-assedly photographed before i share it with you.
so! if y’all are like, “we can’t get enough of the inner workings of quixotic mama’s neurosis and relationship history…”
but is is kinda cool to note, for future biographical historians of mine, that this was when i first started seriously drawing again after having given up drawing in favor of fiction writing when i was 13.
note–confusion perfume is fiction based on me & my experiences. it is not straight-up memoir. some of this stuff is made up…some is true…i won’t tell you which is which…. okay, i probably would if you asked. i am terrible at keeping secrets.
(i think i have it so the print can be read now–let me know if there is a problem.)
i have done a rough of page three, episode three…working title “homicidal mama.”
look at me go.
it’s not easy killing off dusty. just yesterday i looked at old pictures of my dusty…and felt that same tug inside me. and today watching season two of “broadchurch” and seeing the relationship between lee & claire and knowing that like that fictitious relationship…dusty is a drug to me….
i have to kill him off.
i’m sure you understand, dear reader.
but i think all my art therapy is doing me some good. the minions are gone for the week and i’ve doused my hair with manic panic and have somehow tapped into younger me. so she & i are hanging out.
it’s all good.
holy crap, i sure don’t look 48 in this selfie.
younger me can come & hang out more often…as long as she behaves…ish.